Page 28 of Renegade
Chapter Eight
Walker
I wake up with Gemma’s warm, naked body curled up next to me and a raging hard-on. Last night was fucking amazing. I will never in a million years forget the way Gemma came on my tongue—how every muscle in her body clenched in that moment before she finally let go, the way her fingers gripped mine like her life depended on it, the way she screamed my name when she finally went over the edge, and the sweet, earthy taste of her. Hell, every fucking thing about it was exquisite, and I just want to do it again.
But we’re in uncharted territory, and for the first time in my life, I’m at a loss for what to do. Gemma’s my best friend, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. But we blurred the lines when she asked me to help her with Declan, and then we smudged them even more last night. We were both drunk, sure, and maybe it wouldn’t have happened otherwise, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about kissing her, touching her, making her come, fucking her… In fact, it’s pretty much all I’ve thought about since I kissed her night before last. Okay, maybe since she climbed into bed with me, naked.
She’s lying on her side, curled into me, her hair a riotous tumble on the pillow, and the morning sun streaming in through the wall of windows teases out the red glints in her chestnut hair. Unable to resist touching her, I smooth my hand across her outer thigh and over the curve of her hip, letting it rest on her waist. I love the contrast of our skin—my dark to her pale. My cock stirs at the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingertips.
There is nothing I would love more than to sink into her sweet heat, to feel her under me, to hold her face in my hands and look into her green eyes that reflect her every thought as we move together, but I know that’s not going to happen. When she asked for my help, Gemma was adamant that we wouldn’t have actual sex because it would make it awkward. I know she’s right, even though my dick is trying to convince me otherwise.
I sigh. Spending the next few days in close proximity to Gemma and having to pretend my feelings for her are still of the best-friend variety is going to make BUD/S training and fighting terrorists look like a walk in the park. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, both literally and figuratively, I want more. Good thing we’re going riding today. It’s not the same, but at least it will get my mind off what we did last night.
I glance at the clock. Somehow, it’s already almost ten. We’d better get moving. It’s a good five-and-a-half-hour ride to Big Sur without stops, and I want to show Gemma some of the sights along the way, since she’s never been to Northern California.
I shake her gently. “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
She mutters something unintelligible and burrows into my chest.That’sdefinitely not helping my morning wood! I carefully disentangle myself from her and nudge her a little more insistently before I climb out of bed. “Up and at ’em.”
She shoots me the finger and covers her head with a pillow. I grin. Gemma’s never been much of a morning person.
“Come on. The open road awaits us. We’ve got a date with the Pacific Coast Highway, remember?”
“Go without me,” she mutters.
“I can’t. Liam’s bucket list says, ‘Ride the Pacific Coast Highway with a pretty girl at your back.’”
She moves the pillow and opens one green eye a slit to regard me warily. “It does not.”
“It does.” I have no doubt that’s exactly what Liam meant, even if he didn’t spell it out. I turn to get my phone, checking for messages, and when I turn back around she’s rolled over onto her back and pulled the covers up over her breasts. Damn.
“Give me a minute,” she says. “I can’t move. My whole body feels like jelly after last night.” Her cheeks turn red at the memory, and she looks down briefly. For a minute, my heart stops, and I’m terrified we’ve ruined everything. Then she smiles and says cheekily, “The rumors are true. Youareamazing.” She takes a deep breath and looks me straight in the eyes. “That was the most incredible night of my life. Thank you.”
I let out a whoosh of air I didn’t even know I’d been holding. There’s the spunky girl I know who lays it all out in the open and never backs down from anything.
“I honestly didn’t think it could happen at all, much less like that,” she continues. “You’ve redeemed my hope in the male species.”
“Good,” I say, but it comes out more brusquely than I intend it to. I don’t want to redeem her hope in the male species, and I certainly don’t want anyone else giving her orgasms. I want every single one of them to belong to me, and I want to make her come a thousand different ways. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before—like I want to spend my life just making her smile.
But I can’t tell her that. Instead I resort to humor. “What can I say? I’ve got the magic touch. Although I’ve never made a girl squirt before.” My chest puffs out with stupid male ego at the memory. That was both unexpected and incredible. I wonder if I could do it again.
Her gaze drops, and I’m suddenly aware of my dick standing straight up like a lightning rod.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in my own pleasure that I didn’t reciprocate,” she says.
I turn to grab my boxer briefs off the floor and pull them on before I answer her. “Believe me, Gemma, your pleasurewasmine. Although you may have the hottest mouth on the planet, I can’t imagine anything giving me more pleasure than seeing you come, and knowing I was responsible for it. You know what I think your problem is?”
She gives me that Gemma look, which is part eye roll and part sultry invitation. “What?”
“You’ve been in charge of your orgasms for so long, it’s gotten hard to let go and give the power to take you over the edge to someone else. Because orgasm, in and of itself, requires letting go. I know you. You don’t like to be vulnerable, and you’re never more vulnerable than in the moment when you come. It’s why the French expression for it—la petite mort—means ‘the little death.’”
I know it scared her, being that unguarded, even with me. It’s why she suddenly put the brakes on and insisted on giving me a blow job. I’d let her, both to give her a chance to gather her courage and because, hell, I’m only human. But I didn’t let her hide behind it. I pushed her to let go, to let me make her come. I sit down on the edge of the bed and tilt her chin up with my finger. I want to make sure she hears what I’m about to say. “You trusted me with that, and it was better than anything else you could have given me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says softly. She clears her throat. “But I need breakfast if you expect me to even partly function today.”
“Ditto,” I say. “Why don’t you order room service while I shower? Be sure and ask for coffee.”
She rolls her eyes. “Who are you talking to? Of course I’ll order coffee. I’ll even see if they have an IV for it.”
